Centralis’s metropolis was… bustling far more than usual.

  “Left gate—barricaded.”

  “Right gate—barricaded.”

  “All units, search for wanted fugitive Fuer Ponzi,” sounded the magi-tech speaker.

  Fuer darted into the restroom, slipped into his charcoal suit, and ditched his apprentice mage's robes, throwing the forged Crest of Fire alongside the stolen clothes. The con-man ran to the bathroom mirror, pulled out a rusted shear, and cut his hair till it was short again. As the auburn hair drifted onto the tiled floor in lumps, he used a quick wind spell, picked up the falling hair, and burned all of the incriminating evidence with a Tier II flame spell.

  The restroom stank of putrid waste, masking the stench of burning cloth, hair, and steel.

  Only when the pile turned to ash, did Fuer allow himself to let out the breath he had been subconsciously holding.

  The con-man kicked the dust till it mingled with the air, washed his hands with a water glyph, and left the bathroom, looking like a different man altogether.

  His usual face, with that hint of sleazyness, had turned stoic and sharp. Change my resting face, and even the facial features turn muddled.

  The market was filled with merchants, buyers and adventurers, all of whom looked either bemused or slightly panicked, he noted. The con-man could work with that.

  Adopting a worried expression himself, Fuer strode into the crowd, blending in.

  His suit was… attention to detail, to say the least.

  It was a charcoal three-piece suit, with a slim tailored silhouette emphasising his lean but well built figure. The crisp white dress shirt on the inside and the black tie created a contrast with the outer charcoal, giving it a vivid sense of richness. His fitted trousers matched the jacket, and the mother-of-pearl buttons were all done up, save for the top three.

  The deed had been done. It was a shame the third party had gotten caught, but Fuer completed the trade, and that was all that mattered. He jiggled his pocket, and smirked, having felt the seven mithril coins inside.

  “Coin speaks more than words,” the con-man mused, already calculating his getaway.

  He brushed through the crowd, moving from the bustling merchant’s marketplace to the city centre. Centralian soldiers wouldn’t expect the Traitor of the North to move inward, after all. He had conditioned them to check the outskirts—the rural, farming areas—for any potential getaway tunnels.

  Commander Ulegius would be sure to get his soldiers to search every nook and cranny. When he’d sold sensitive political documents, he’d escaped under a pre-prepared collapsible tunnel in an abandoned farmhouse. He’d also escaped that way when he’d infiltrated The Moon Shrine’s inner circle to assassinate Priest Buldak. So why wouldn’t he escape that way after selling Centralia’s secret military operations to the Southern spies?

  He was sure to, right?

  Wrong, old man.

  By the time Fuer had reached the Nobles Hall, his posture had straightened, and he began walking—nay, marching—in such a way that both arrogance and confidence rolled off him like second nature.

  He was just about to enter the Hall, when a tall, brick-thick bicep dwarf with a grey, rugged beard stopped him.

  “Which House? I haven’t seen you here before. I’ll need your House badge as identity proof, sir,” rasped the dwarven bouncer.

  Fuer raised an eyebrow, and feigned annoyance. “Dward, I’d rather you speak with an appropriate tone. I am Aldric, from House Thorne. Now, let me in this instance. I’ve no reason to bother with you.”

  The dwarven bouncer eyed Fuer, sceptical. “House bade. Now. Sir.” The con-man looked taken aback.

  “You dare threaten me?” ‘hissed’ ‘Aldric Throne’. The con-man grabbed the dwarf by the scruff of his collar, and before the bouncer could apprehend Fuer, he pulled out a single mithril coin, flaunting it for the bouncer to see. “You dare question my wealth and my status, dwarf?”

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  Fuer spat out the last word, like it was vemon. On the inside?

  He couldn’t stop laughing.

  Look at the guy! He’s scared shitless!

  The dwarven bouncer dropped on his knees and bowed. “I-I’m sorry, Lord Aldric Thorne! P…Please accept my apology!” He hastily shot up, wildly gesticulating, stammering every word. “This way! Lord! Aldric!”

  The con-man eyed the dwarf, face stoic and stone-hard. “Next time,” he began, “learn your manners. You see this mithril coin? A flick of my wrist, and I’ll buy your entire hometown as my slaves. Upper Nobility such as I deserve respect on sight.”

  The poor bouncer, still shaking, bowed. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

  And thus, the Traitor of the North entered the Noble’s Hall.

  Just the chandelier hanging atop could feed a modest family of four for a month. The tiled marble floor held specks of gold and crystalised mana inside, semi-translucent and glowing under the myriad of light filtering through the sunroof. He could describe the entrance room in all its despisable glory, but he had more urgent matters to attend to.

  Such as securing half of the city’s nobles as hostages.

  Fuer moved with hasty speed. A glyph bomb here, another there. One under the stage. Three more under the stage for good measure. Two for each exit, another over there, and another beneath that.

  By the time he was done, Fuer was exhausted and out of breath. But I still did it. That’s all that matters.

  Using the radio he pickpocketed from a guard in the Merchant’s Market, Fuer spoke.

  “Commander Ulegius. Do not bother searching fo—”

  “Where are you?” barked a scolding voice dripping with venom. “You’re trapped in here. All possible routes have been secured. Give up now!”

  Fuer scoffed. “As I was saying, dear commander. Do not bother searching for me. You wish to know my location? Sure, I’ll tell you exactly where I am. The Noble’s Hall.”

  Fuer heard Ulegius yell something to a soldier, though the sound was muffled from the static.

  “Now, let’s not get too hasty,” sneered the conman, fiddling with a glyph bomb between his fingers. “I have a total of seventy bombs scattered across the Hall. One pulse of my mana and—boom. Half the kingdom’s nobles are gathered in Centralia today, no? And, dear Ulegius, please, inform me, where would such nobles be?”

  “...The Noble’s Hall. So… what do you want?” asked the commander, wearily.

  “I want a safe passage out of Centralia. The West will pick me up. Oh—and don’t try anything funny. We can try, if you want. A spell to my face or a pulse of my mana.”

  The commander was steaming. “Why, Fuer? Why betray your home kingdom?”

  Fuer mused for a split second. “Why? Money, that’s why. The West can offer far more than the North,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

  “...”

  An hour later, Western soldiers in enchanted mana?resistant armor forced their way through Centralia’s left gate, shields raised against the riot.

  Fuer walked between the Western vanguard as they escorted him out of the metropolis. The crowd had gathered despite the chaos. All of them stared at him.

  And Fuer loved it.

  At the gate, Commander Ulegius stood, waiting. The Western escort slowed, weapons raised, but Ulegius didn’t move. He simply locked eyes with Fuer.

  For a moment, the world narrowed to the two of them.

  Ulegius’s glare was a storm of rage and disbelief.

  Fuer’s expression was calm. Almost amused.

  “You’ve done enough damage for ten lifetimes,” Ulegius growled, voice hoarse. “Look at what you’ve become.”

  Fuer tilted his head. “I am a byproduct of this kingdom.”

  The Western captain shoved Fuer forward. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  But Fuer didn’t break eye contact. Not yet.

  “Good job, Fuer,” one of the Western soldiers muttered, gripping his shoulder. “We’ve secured the route.”

  “Pleasure’s mine,” Fuer replied, still staring at Ulegius. “A shame Davis and Jarvis were caught during the exchange… but I still have the backup documents.”

  Ulegius’s jaw clenched. His hand twitched toward his blade.

  “Excellent,” the Western captain said. “The North will fall soon.”

  Fuer finally turned away from the commander, a cold smile tugging at his lips.

  “I cannot wait.”

  Fuer, the pathological lair, wasn’t lying for once. If the North didn’t have such inequality between rich and poor, his parents wouldn’t have been taken. If his parents hadn’t been taken, Fuer never would’ve unclothed the Northern Kingdom’s secrets. If Feur never unclothed the Northern Kingdom’s secrets, he never would’ve found out they were dabbling in the forbidden discipline, necromancy. And if Fuer never knew about the undead army, he never would’ve seen his parents, covered in rotting flesh, looking like…

  The con-man scowled.

  “Why, Fuer? Why betray your home kingdom?”

  Ulegius’ voice sounded in his head. It wasn’t because of the money, it was because of…

  “Haahhh… Now I’m pissed.”

  Fuer rubbed his temples. Behind him, the sound of seventy glyph-bombs exploding simultaneously echoed, bouncing off Centralia’s walls to create a cacophony of screams, wails, and falling stone. The ground beneath his feet shook, and a firebolt came flying towards Fuer as Ulegius howled with rage.

  The Western captain blocked it.

  Fuer didn’t look back.

  There was nothing behind him worth returning to.

  Today, Centralia’s metropolis was… bustling far more than usual.